Endings
by CHAILYN
Summary: You'll lose everything by the end. But they knew that at the start, didn't they?


**_Endings _**

_Summary: You'll lose everything by the end. But they knew that at the start, didn't they? _

_I'm gonna be upfront and honest and tell you that I'm not sure if anymore of this will be written. I was just ridiculously angry and couldn't think of any better way to channel that anger than to throw myself into a bit of fic writing. On an unrelated note, after this I'm thinking of doing a Supernatural/Fruits Basket cross over. Anyone a fan of the manga? I'm only up to volume 10, but it just screams slash. But, I disgress._

All he saw was Dean's retreating back; saw Dean giving up on him, on life, on everything that ever mattered.

And he saw in Dean's eyes, he blamed him. It was all his fault.

But he could still make things right. He couldn't go back in time and undo it all, he couldn't go back and stop himself from ever existing so that he wouldn't have unleashed the Apocalypse-but he could stop Dean from needing to sacrifice himself again.

Sam couldn't live with that. He watched his brother die for him once, and he wasn't going to let him do it again for the whole world.

With even hands he loaded the forty-five with one last bullet. The last one he'd ever use and as he shut the chamber, hearing the click…he was filled with an amazing feeling of relief. Hell would be a vacation after the last year…after everything. After _everything_, to not feel anymore would be an amazing relief.

One reflex, and all his problems, all the pain, everything was over.

He set the gun down, there was one more thing he needed to do. Sam took the pad of paper from the top of the side table and dug through the drawer for a pen, finally coming upon a mutilated pencil. It would suffice.

_Dean,_

He scrawled messily, in a hurry to get this out and done as quickly as possible. It seemed important, too important to not do this now that his mind was made up.

_I don't know if you'll ever get this. It doesn't matter, nothing-none of it does anymore. I'm sorry for everything I can't take back. This is the only way I know to fix this, to stop Lucifer, to stop Michael from killing you. There was no coming back. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything I've done wrong, and I wish to God I could fix it all. This is all there was._

_Love, Sammy._

Sam chewed his lip, biting back the tears that threatened to fall. he was just hoping it wasn't too late, praying that Michael had not taken his brother over yet. Hoping he still had the time to end what he'd started.

With a jerk in his chest, Castiel was torn from the drunken stupor that two liquor stores had generously lulled him into. Anger was the first emotion he felt, he had been putting so much effort into cutting himself off from everything and then-

The only two. There were only two that he didn't have it in him to let go of. In a moment of horrible, hideous clarity like he'd had only so few times in his life…

He watched Sam's skull shatter, and cerebral matter spray across an empty room.

Castiel's scream of horror didn't verbalize as he disappeared to the room where he last saw Sam, where he last left-when Dean too left.

Before it was over.

He was receiving a rapid crash course in what a conscience was.

"N-No…"

Castiel was trying to ignore human Jimmy's bitter criticism's of his choices as he watched Sam's blood pool around his head, soaking through the mattress, across the floor, and trying to swallow the guilt that tasted like copper that rose in his throat.

_That's a great job, _Jimmy told him_, maybe the next one will-_

"Shut up." Castiel said, swallowing with great difficulty. The feelings were nothing he wanted-nothing he'd felt or ever wanted to again.

_It's called guilt. You could have intervened-done something. Now they're both going to be dead, and what the hell is that gonna solve? _

Castiel walked in circles around the room. Why? Why? Why was this the solution? What was it fixing at all? Zachariah was still going to come for Dean, Dean had probably told Michael yes already.

He caught sight of the crinkled piece of paper only inches away from where Sam lay and picked it up, unable to look from him.

Abomination…

At least _he'd _made an effort. Wrong or not, it was worth something. It deserved to be worth something.

He knew his standing in heaven wasn't worth anything, that no one cared…that God himself didn't care but…

"Please God," he said quietly, "Keep him from harm…we know not what we did."

He should have done something other than leave. Castiel brushed his hands against the wetness that covered his cheeks.

_You're crying, _Jimmy told him, _that's good._

"It feels horrible." Castiel said, feeling a tearing in his chest that was unbearable. This feeling of loss was unlike nearly anything he was accustomed to.

_It does. It will._

Castiel glanced down at the note. Dean, it was for Dean. Of course it was.

"Jesus Fucking-!" Dean took a great breath to calm his heart when he looked into the passenger seat, and saw Castiel there. "What the hell?"

"What are you doing, Dean?" Castiel asked, his voice even after composing himself.

"You know what I'm doing." Dean's hand's tightened around the wheel. "You know it's the only way."

"No, its…apparently not." Castiel found himself struggling with the proper words. "Pull over."

"Why?" Dean asked. "What's the grand plan you've got, oh drunken one?"

"I'm sober. Painfully so." Castiel told him, wishing he was in fact liquored up. He supposed this would be easier. "Pull the car over."

"Hey," Dean didn't obey the order, "If you have a new idea, I am all for it, okay? But as far as I see it our only, and I mean _only _option is to play ball with the angels."

Castiel shook his head. "Sam-Sam found a different way."

Dean's left eyebrow twitched, Castiel noticed.

"If this has anything to do with him and his freaky demon blood-"

"No." Castiel interrupted, it didn't seem fair to allow Dean to say something he would only abuse himself for later. "It's decidedly human. Boorishly so."

"Fine." Dean pulled the car over, "I don't see why he couldn't have picked his phone up and-"

Dean was cut off as Castiel handed him a crumpled piece of paper. He unfolded it, and scanned the paper…

A joke.

And again.

He was reading it wrong.

And again. And again. And again. And again.

And it kept saying the same thing. It didn't change-it-

He couldn't talk, he couldn't-

"No! No, goddamnit!" Dean punched his fists into the steering wheel. "No!"

Dean ran his hand frustrated through his hair, gripping at great handfuls of it; trying to comprehend-to-to-

"Why? WHY?"


End file.
